Murder by Macaron
by Dumbothepatronus
Summary: "It takes two to make an accident." -F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby. One-shot. Draco/Hermione, Ron/Hermione, Lavender/Ron.


**Beater 2 prompt:** Libra (September 23-October 22). Libra is obsessed with symmetry and strives to create equilibrium in all areas of life. Libras adore high art, intellectualism, and connoisseurship. Write about a character(s) that goes overboard to satiate their exquisite tastes

**Optional Prompts:**

Color: crimson

Emotion: regret

**Warnings:** Infidelity, major character deaths, suicide

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"Have you seen Malfoy recently?" Hermione dug her fingernails into the ivory skin of her forearm as she forced her eyes away from her husband who was chatting up Lavender Finnigan née Brown on the dance floor.

"Aye, Lass. Spotted him by the ice sculpture just ten minutes past." Seamus Finnigan took a swig from a crystal goblet half-full of shimmering lilac champagne.

It was a jarring sight, the slosh of the delicate beverage through the Irishman's lips. In fact, Seamus' presence at one of Draco Malfoy's infamous charity functions was a bit of a shock in and of itself. He stood out like cheap beer in a lineup of priceless aged wines.

Hermione nodded once to excuse herself from the oblivious man. Being near him in any capacity filled her with a guilty uneasiness that was sure to explode someday— Hermione hated keeping secrets.

In any case, she needed to find that shock of platinum hair that was sure to lead the way to her favorite indulgences. She swam through the crowded ballroom of Malfoy Manor, through endless seas of peacock feathers and iridescent sequins adorning dancing socialites until she spied an unmistakable figure in charcoal grey coattails.

"It's like I was saying, Mrs. Longbottom. House-elves deserve the right to choose for themselves—" silver eyes flickered to the red fringe cascading down Hermione's straight-sided party dress "—but if you would excuse me, I'm afraid my own staff requires my presence in the kitchens."

With a deliberate wink in Hermione's direction, Draco lifted his glass in a salute to the Longbottom matriarch before setting it down on a floating platter and sauntering towards the kitchens.

Hermione swallowed down the moisture that was beginning to collect under her tongue at the thought of what might await her there. She wandered around the extravagant party for a moment, checking to make sure that Ron was still enraptured with the silly, blonde-haired witch in the opposite corner of the room. His distraction made for powerful insurance against her getting caught.

Not that she should have cared. Ron hardly had the right to judge her, not when he'd been seeing Lavender on the side for years now. Oh, he thought he was subtle. The truth was, she couldn't find it in herself to much care. Especially considering—

Hermione's train of thought was interrupted by the sweet symphony of smells that enveloped her as she pushed her way through the swinging double doors of the manor's kitchens. Her eyelids folded shut as she allowed the creamy vanillas and fragrant roses fill her lungs. This was paradise— the Garden of Eden.

And if this was paradise, the owner of the strong set of arms currently wrapping themselves around her waist was the scheming serpent. A hot breath hissed in her ear before the low murmur of his words registered in her mind. "Ready to see what I've acquired to tempt you with this week?"

Hermione's eyelashes fluttered against her cheek. She did want to see. Her desire for what laid in wait on his stylish quartz countertops nearly overruled the temptation to spin around in his arms and taste the spearmint that drifted in the air from his breath. But only nearly.

She flicked her wand at the double kitchen doors for good measure before turning and caressing his cheek with her open hand. "I can't believe you finally managed to get that legislation through. I've been fighting for that amendment for ages."

Draco practically purred under the warmth of her hand. "What's all this money and prestige for, if not to influence the government for the greater good?" Her breath stalled as he leaned in to place a brief kiss on her lips. "Other than for macarons, of course."

His sly smile waxed indulgent as he pulled her by the hand towards a kitchen island bearing a tiered cookie stand. She ran her hand over her arm in anxious anticipation as he lifted the crystal dome to reveal dozens of galleon-sized pastel pastries.

Long, pale fingers lifted a rose-colored macaron from the tray and presented it with a flourish. "Now this is a particular delicacy. Cost a small fortune for this batch, as the rose petals used in the batter were procured from the Queen's prized rose bushes." He ran a perfectly shaped nail over the pale dome of the cookie. "Note the gold specs in the top- that is real gold leaf baked right into the shell. And in the middle is a tart raspberry jam compote."

"You sly snake. You somehow manage to outdo yourself every time."

A glint of sadness flickered through his eyes. "How else can I ensure you keep coming back to me?"

He lifted the offering to her mouth and watched with ravenous jealousy as she bit into the confection.

Rose and raspberry danced on her tongue, followed by the metallic bite from the gold. "Oh! The earthiness of the raspberry balances the floral tones of the roses perfectly. Was it made with French or Italian meringue?"

Draco scoffed. "What is this, amateur hour? The answer is always Italian."

"It's fantastic, Draco. You know you shouldn't spoil me like this— I'll never be able to walk away."

"That's the idea." He spun the crystal cookie stand, glancing over the luxurious selections until a grin broke out over his thoughtful expression. "Here it is— something entirely unexpected… with a little bit of magic."

Hermione raised her eyebrows. "It has a magical ingredient?"

She reached for the crimson macaron eagerly, but he swept it away out of her reach and held up a scolding finger. "Wait. This particular recipe contains the fascinating combination of bat's blood and fairy wings."

"Ooohh, you didn't! Like in that book— _Baking with Belinda, _page 193. 'The combination of bat's blood and fairy wings will create a powerful, yet short-lived ethereal experience. Use with caution.'"

Draco glanced at the kitchen doors, still locked and warded. "Don't say I didn't warn you. I'll stay right with you until it wears off."

She lifted the cookie gingerly from his outstretched hand. The bright-red shell sat serenely, yet teased of danger and potency. Here in this elaborate kitchen with this elaborate man, she'd sampled macarons flavored with green tea from ancestral Chinese gardens; with tangerines imported from South America; with tops sprinkled with powdered unicorn horn. Yet of all his offerings, Draco had never brought her anything that would alter her state of mind.

Curiosity burned within her. What sophisticated experience might she be missing out on if she was too afraid to try this exotic delicacy? She closed her eyes and bit into the macaron.

As she swallowed, a heavy coldness settled in her mind. She peeked through the slits of her eyelids to find the familiar kitchen transformed. Ribbons of color — forest greens and navy blues — wove through the room like a dark rainbow. She could no longer see her lover next to her; she could only hear his steady breathing like a ghost or a memory.

A sound like a drum set crashing to the ground jarred in her ears through the misty haze. She snapped her head towards where the double doors had been and saw a womanly figure beginning to materialize.

Dark matted hair. Wild brown eyes. Hermione raised her wand against the villain of her nightmares. "You. You are supposed to be dead."

"You'd like that, wouldn't you? I guess I should take it as a compliment — the only witch even perfect Hermione Granger has cause to hate." Bellatrix Lestrange's voice was exactly as she remembered it: cold with a pinch of madness.

An angry snarl clawed its way from Hermione's throat as she sliced her wand through the misty air. "Don't take another step; I won't hesitate to cast. I haven't forgotten about last time."

Draco's voice was a quiet, urgent echo in the back of her mind. She pushed it away, her hatred filling her to the brim.

Bellatrix took two steps towards the defensive witch. "Yes, how does it feel to lose everything you love to me? Not so silly now, am I?"

"I told you _not to move._" Panic rose in her throat as Bellatrix advanced. Hermione wasn't going to end up writhing on the floor beneath this madwoman— not this time. "_Avada Kedavra!". _

"No!" Draco's voice was loud, now— loud enough to cut through the dark ribbons clouding Hermione's judgment, but not loud enough to obscure the thump of a head hitting a quartz countertop on its body's way down to the tiled kitchen floor.

Crimson. A puddle of crimson, the same hue as the delicate half-finished cookie in her hand, spilled out beneath the matted blanket of black hair under her former nemesis.

"It's ok, Draco. I took care of it. Bellatrix will never hurt us again." The streaks of darkness began to shimmer and fade from her vision as the effects of the bat's blood and fairy wings wore off.

She turned to see Draco's form rematerializing through the mist. His head was buried in his hands, his shoulders quivering. "Bellatrix? Oh no, Hermione; oh, no." His hands balled up into fists over his eyeballs. "I never should have given it to you. This has all gone wrong."

Hermione turned fully towards him as the last shimmers of darkness dissipated into the air. She let out a shaky breath, her fingers still trembling from the encounter. "You couldn't have known she'd show up. It isn't your fault."

Regret haunted his face as he finally lowered his hands to her waist. He swallowed hard. "It wasn't Bellatrix."

A lead brick of dread dropped in Hermione's stomach as she slowly turned back to the defeated witch. A long streak of red trailed down his pristine white counters to a large puddle on the floor, soaking into long blonde curls surrounding a too-young face. "Lavender."

A devastating shock of regret washed through her as she viewed the lifeless body of her husband's lover. This never would have happened if she had reigned in her taste for that fine man with his fine luxuries years ago. Her indulgences had finally caught up with her. If she had known her sins would lead to this, she would have taken Ron and run far away in the other direction years ago.

"But... how did she—"

Her question was cut short by the crash of the swinging kitchen door into the side wall. "Has anyone seen Lavender? I coulda sworn she—" Seamus stopped dead in his tracks, his mouth hanging open in shock as his face steadily heated to match the dreaded crimson of the cookie and the floor.

Draco fumbled with Hermione, tucking her around behind his body. "Seamus, I can explain. It's my fault, I'm afraid. Wasn't watching what I was—"

Seamus held his wand aloft as his rage boiled over. He didn't even invoke a spell; didn't need to. He simply exploded with accidental magic and a beam of deadly light shot from the tip of his wand.

Hermione's arms sagged under him as Draco's lifeless body dropped to the floor. "Draco, no!" Her tears soaked into his suit jacket as she patted his pale cheek. "Wake up. No! Please, wake up."

Not him. Not him, too. It was bad enough that Lavender — a girl Hermione had never liked (and really, who could love the woman her husband is cheating with?)— had died by horrible misunderstanding. But the sight of Draco on the ground broke her to her core. He should not have died. It was her fault. Her unforgivable curse. Her wand. Why did he have to be so noble?

Seamus's incantation was miserable and guilty. "_Avada Kedavra_." _Thump_.

She looked up from her lover's still form to see Seamus sprawled on the tiles next to his fallen wife. Hermione's grieving wails must have been heard even in the ballroom, for in a matter of minutes the kitchen doors swung open again to reveal Ron's panicked expression.

"Hermione? Lavender! What happened in here?" His eyes flickered around the lifeless bodies on the floor, the incriminating scarlet stains spilling over the tiles.

"Right. Let's get out of here." Ron swallowed and marched up to his weeping wife. He flung his arm around her shoulders. "I think it's about time we visited America, don't you?"

With a crack and a twist, Ron spirited them away from the Isle of Britain forever.

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_AN: Story inspired by The Great Gatsby and the Harry Potter series, neither of which are mine to claim._


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